Wastelands
by stellarrdrift
Summary: Destiel. 2014 AU. What happened during the 5 years before the final battle that Dean witnessed when he traveled into the future? Sam has become the vessel for Lucifer and Dean has barely escaped. Alone, haunted and barely holding on. Clinging to one hope.
1. Alone

Dean opened each cupboard door systematically searching for anything edible or useful. Most of them were empty but finally struck gold. He was frowning when he finally walked out of the kitchen, his only booty a small label-less tin that had been stuck to the shelf with an insidious looking black substance. He looked out the front window cautiously,

It would be suicide to let one of the see him. It wasn't that he couldn't take one, individually. They travel in packs, with sometimes hundreds of them in a pack, and once one of them let out their signature moan, the rest would come running. A pack of Croaks was much harder to deal with, especially since he only 5 shells remaining.

The street outside where his black impala was parked appeared deserted. He cocked his shotgun, just in case and slowly opened the door. Looking left and right, he jogged to the car as quietly as he could. As he opened the car door, feeling a bit of relief, he heard a low growling coming from behind him. He spun around just in time to spray the infected human directly in the chest. It was a deadly wound but the creature's scream went on. Dean wasted no more time. Out of breath and heart racing, he got into his car anrd quickly drove away.

Sweat dripped down his face as he sped along the deserted freeway. Although it was nearly ninety degrees out, he didn't dare to roll down the windows. Last time he had his windows rolled down, stopped to check a map, a stealthy Croat had surprised him and nearly taken a chunk out of his shoulder. _Never again._ He shook his head at the memory and tried to focus on driving. Maybe it was the heat, or the near miss in town, or the purple haze in the sky as the sun set on another day spent alone with death at every turn but his heart was hammering by the time he pulled onto the turn off. He had stayed out too late and now he would arrive home in the dark.

_Stupid_. He thought to himself as he turned off the headlights and slowly turned down the long driveway leading up to the abandoned farmhouse that he had been living in for the past month. Dean strained his eyes but it seemed deserted as usual. But still, it would be nearly impossible to be sure to secure his little hideaway in the dark. He got out of the impala cautiously, his shot gun ready and walked around the back of the house. Once he was satisfied that no one was outside, he opened the back door and checked the inside of the house. It was empty. He pushed the rusty old table in front of the door before retiring upstairs to the smallest bedroom where he would lay down on pile of dirty blankets until dawn.

The window in the room was busted but that didn't bother him. It would be easier to hear if someone tried to get in. He spent most of his nights awake, still and listening anyway. He tried very hard to listen. He had decided a long time ago that it was better to focus on surviving that to let himself think.

_Or feel_. It had been over a year since the Croatoan virus had spread to every major city in America. It had been days… months since he had seen anyone who was not infected. Months since Castiel had gone missing. Months since Sam… _No. Don't go there_.

He stared out the window and into the darkness. Soon they would come. The images. Their faces. His face. Those eyes, too blue to be natural and a hint of darkness. Suddenly like he'd taken a blow to the stomach, the pain came. Stop. He took a deep breath in.

_Listen_. It was harder to listen nowadays. There was only silence. The birds, the grasshoppers, they were all gone now. At least that made it easier to hear anyone, or anything sneaking up on him. It made listening a better distraction too, because you really had to strain yourself to hear anything. Not that there was usually anything to hear.

Dean let himself think about the last time he'd had a drink. He'd found one of those mini bottles of peppermint snaps in one of the desks in an office building. This town was really picked over. He knew he should move on, find someplace where there was still food left but he finding it so hard to stay motivated to survive. _Everyone I know and love is dead_.

So what's the point of going on? If he had to be without them, well, he wasn't doing so hot on his own and he lost his whole reason to fight. Four days since the last time he's eaten. Lying awake all night practicing the art of thinking about nothing.

"Dean. I need you." A deep, raspy voice whispered from behind him. He jumped up and looked around the room.

"Cas?" An involuntary tear dropped from one eye. He shook his head again. He hadn't been careful enough. He had let a thought creep in that shouldn't and now he was hearing voices again. His voice. He got up and paced the room, looked out the window and made a decision. Tomorrow he'd find a new place and new town, hopefully something to eat.

He laid awake for some time but didn't remember falling asleep when the blinding, unfiltered sunlight woke him the next morning. He looked out his window and saw no one coming so he braved opening the filthy tin he'd found yesterday. It was some kind of fish, brown and it had an odd odor coming from it but famished, he dug in and finished the whole thing in under a minute.

His stomach lurched unpleasantly_. Probably should have eaten that slower. Probably should have rationed it just in case._ He grabbed his gun and left.


	2. 18 Months Earlier

**18 Months Earlier:**

"Sammy! No!" He was running toward him but it was too late. Blood was dripping into his eyes now, clouding his vision. He watched as the thing inside his brother turned around and looked at him. It smiled calmly at Dean.

"Nice try, Dean Winchester. Really, your suicide wish is admirable… or something. If I didn't have to keep you around for my brother's use, I would gleefully dispose of you. I suppose a little harmless torture would do for now." He snapped his fingers and waves of electricity rocked through Dean's body, sending him to the floor.

At that moment, the front door to the run down house opened and a bloodied man in a trench coat shambled in.

"Lucifer." Cas spoke. "Stop this."

"Not you again." With a flick of Sam's wrist, he was sent back through the front door.

"Cas! No!" Dean turned toward his brother… no Lucifer. "You son of a bitch! I'm going to kill the shit out of you!"

Lucifer merely laughed and sent another mental attack at him. As Dean lay writhing on the floor, the room began to tremble. Disoriented at first Dean thought the sensation was an effect of the electric shocks rocking through his body but slowly as it grew brighter and brighter in the room, he realized that it was another angel coming. Michael.

_I can't be here_. He thought desperately. He closed his eyes and crawled in the direction of the door. The high pitched sound of an angels true form nearly deafening at this point. Finally he felt the door frame and suddenly as he realized he was out of the room, he realized he was no longer in agony and was able to run. And he ran.

He didn't look back as fled from the being that would inhabit his body and take keep him a prisoner of his own mind. Heart racing and more terrified than he had ever been in his life, he ran.

It took several hours for him to realize that no one was chasing him. He stopped into an abandoned bar and had a shot or two to try and calm down. He couldn't even think with his heart hammering like that.. At that point he decided to get to Bobby and come up with another plan. He thought of the way Cas' body flew through the air, and remembering he was human now was like another blow to the stomach. _We've been tossed around before. He could have survived._ But he was unable to convince himself.

The streets were empty and Dean wondered if it was even too dangerous to go back outside. Was the fact that Lucifer now had his prefect vessel, making Michael more anxious to find him and coerce him into saying yes? He found some spare change in his coat pocket and used the payphone in the back to call Bobby. No answer.

_Dammit. _ He thought. Even with all the danger of being out in the street, he decided it was best to get out of town and drive to Bobby's. Once he was there, they would work out a new plan together. He went the long way around and it was nearly dawn when he finally arrived.

From where he parked the hot-wired piece of plastic he was driving, he could see the front door to the charming bungalow blowing freely in the breeze.

This can't be good. He took a deep breath and pulled out his pistol as he walked inside. The place was deserted and Bobby's wheelchair was lay abandoned, tipped over on it's side. A sudden desperation raged through him and his legs felt numb. He fell to the floor and stifled a cry.

_It's too much. It's just too much at once._ He thought. Lucifer took Sam as his vessel. Bobby was missing without his chair, taken who knows where. And Cas, Cas laying there crumbled, broken at that old rotting Victorian. Would he ever see him again? He lay there defeated, wondering if he should even bother getting back up. Without the others to help him, he wasn't sure where to even begin, without Cas he . . .

_Maybe he's still alive_. His thoughts were racing again. _Probably he's dead_, said the realist in him. I should go back. The thought of Cas lying there cold, stiff, exposed. Putting his body to rest… it's the least I could do.

Having made the decision to do something, he felt somewhat better than he had seconds earlier. He grabbed a quick bite to eat, not realizing how famished he was until after he had started chewing. Then he got back into the light blue foreign built car and drove back to the house.

XXX

Dean approached the house cautiously, parking several blocks away and going through backyards. He had seen a few Croats but managed to avoid them. Other than that the town had still seemed deserted. The closer he got to the house, the faster his heart raced. He kept imagining what Cas would look like lifeless and still, no matter how hard he tried to stop. It was probably these thoughts that had driven him to charge the last 50 feet or so towards the house without really looking around.

Immediately, he saw that there was no body anywhere near where he had seen Cas land and almost immediately he realized that he was not at all alone. There was at least ten of them, all clustered around the front porch. Croats, humans infested with a demonic virus which turned them into flesh-hungry zombie monsters, were circling him thanks to his temporary lapse in judgment and control.

_Shit_.

(to be continued…)


	3. Nightmare

**Chapter Three**

**Present Day**

He was driving.

The narrow road seemed to wind carelessly through the endless trees. Dean wasn't sure where it went, he wasn't even sure of where he wanted to go, but the main roads and highways were basically deathtraps now. Croats loved highways.

He inhaled deeply, steadily, slowly. He exhaled the same way. It was a thing he's started doing. It seemed to help. Whatever had reminded him of the past, of that day, he had driven past it now and there wasn't anything more to be afraid of. Or was there? Inexplicably, he felt more afraid than ever. He would have thought that the fact that everyone he had ever loved was dead would be freeing. What's left to be afraid of when all of your worst nightmares are reality? Maybe that was it then, the reality of his nightmare. Or maybe it was the finality of life and knowing that ultimately death led to despair, pain or an illusion. Or maybe it was the fact that he still held onto some semblance of hope. Hope that Sam could still be freed. Hope that Cas had made it and was hiding out somewhere right now. Hope that he'd find him and Bobby and they would come up with a plan together and by some miracle they would actually pull it off. They would actually win.

These were usually the most insidious kinds of thoughts. The kind that crept in quietly. Softly. Pretending to comfort, to warm, then, leaving abruptly mid fantasy with a cold slap of reality to face. Those would be the times Dean looked around and suddenly saw just how rotting, filthy and degrading the new world had become. He hated it. But mostly, he just hated himself.

His stomach rumbled again. The old tinned mystery meat did not seem to be agreeing with him. He really needed to find something to eat, soon.

_I should have brought Cas with me the first time I left_. Another oldie but a goodie. Should have's and should have not's plagued him incessantly if he let them. In the early days, back when he'd still been actively trying to find the others, he'd had a few trip-ups. No big deal. He'd had to hole up someplace for a while a few times. Just take a breather and try not to over-think it. After a while he got better and better at it.

Not thinking. Not remembering. Except when some piece of garbage by the side of the road glistened in the sunlight, catching his eye and somehow reminding him of some happy or sad memory of his friends, his family. Reminding him, he was alone.

His stomach cramped up. He barely had had time to pull over and open the door before he was emptying the contents of the tin can and then some all over the pavement.

"Ok. I should feel better now." He said as he doubled over again. And again and again. But I have hardly eaten in two weeks, where is all of this coming from? He thought bitterly. His head was pounding and his vision even a little blurry around the edges but he saw the movement in his peripherals.

Adrenaline surged through him. A croat. He grabbed his shotgun and tried to lift it but he was too weak. He reached for the pistol in his waistband instead and managed to aim it in the general direction he'd seen it but now he didn't see anything. Then, a human silhouette appeared just inside the trees. He raised his gun. He shot at it. He missed and the croat was off and running, but Dean was running as well. He was having trouble breathing and his head still felt like fire and ice but he pushed himself. He was gaining on it, he could see now that the croat was a man with dark hair wearing a dirty dark blue suit.

"Hey!" He called out, raising his pistol. The croat stopped finally and turned around to look at him. His piercing blue eyes dark and the bottom half of his five o'clock shadow covered in blood.

"Cas?" Dean whispered.

"You left me for dead. Now look what I've become." The monster raised his hands and grinned manically. Dean stepped back.

"See what you've done to me?" He stepped forward. "See what you've made me?"

Now it was Dean's turn to run away. And he ran. He had thought was running back to the road, to the impala but the woods seemed endless around him. The adrenaline had worn off. His head was pounding. His legs felt like jelly. One last step, a misstep it turns out, because an large root which had grown above the ground, or it had been grow in the ground but now the dirt was washed away but either way, was in front of his foot where he thought free space would be and on the left of his path, although he couldn't see it, was a 15 foot drop.

Then, everything went dark.


	4. Waking Life

**Chapter Four**

"Drink this." A familiar voice said. He felt something plastic pressing against his lips, water. He drank. He was so thirsty. "Slowly, you'll get sick if you have to much at once."

He opened his eyes but everything was out of focus. _Who are you?_ He wanted to ask but he opened his mouth to speak and only a garbled choked noise came out.

"It's ok," Said the oddly comforting voice, "Don't try to talk. Just close your eyes and rest. You're safe now."

His head a dull ache, his vision blurry, his eyelids heavy, without much choice he decided to give in. His eyes closed and he slept.

The first thing he noticed when he awoke again was how soft the bed he was laying on was. For the first time in months, he was actually comfortable. The second thing he noticed was the sweet smell of something delicious cooking. His stomach growled. His eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness and he realized he was in a small, tidy one room cabin. The only light was coming from a small fire in the fireplace in the middle of the room where a figure crouched, stirring something in a kettle above the flames.

Dean stifled a cough as he tried to sit up. The figure turned around.

"Dean."

Dean felt his chest tighten as he stared at the ragged looking man in front of him, the eyes, too blue, not real. He thought, desperately. _I'm dreaming_.

"Dean?" He tilted his head slightly to the side, sounding concerned. "How are you feeling?"

Dean had opened his mouth to speak but found himself unable to even take in a breath. He stared at the figure in front of him, the likeness of his friend, whom he had spent so long trying his hardest to erase from his mind for the past year and a half. He stared at the face, so different yet familiar, somehow softer, yet, older more worn. His hair was longer than before, disheveled and dirty as were his clothes. The blue suit and trench coat were gone. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and a green jacket that looked suspiciously familiar. But his eyes, they were so blue. Was that the same shade they had always been?

Dean searched his long abandoned memories for a clue, for a picture of the Cas that he knew. Cas, looking away, embarrassed when Dean had asked him if he was a virgin. He was sitting down and Dean had been looking over his shoulder, admiring the curve of his neck, silently pleading he'd say yes.

Then he was straightening Cas' tie, relishing the brief moment when the back of his hand had been resting on Cas' chest but he had avoided looking into his eyes, to afraid that Cas with his ease of perception would see right through him.

Then, Cas, boiling with rage as he threw Dean across a dirty alley way after Dean had nearly given in to Michael. The anger he'd felt, no, not anger, fear. He hadn't been strong enough and now Cas was disgusted with him, like everyone, he would abandon him. His eyes, they were turned away. His eyes. Why couldn't he remember such a simple thing?

Cas, brave selfless Cas, bursting through the door to save him only to be sent flying back through, landing crumpled, limp in a pile outside. And Dean had just left him there. Alone.

He just stares at the likeness of his friend, longing, wishing, hoping and suddenly he can no longer push down the feelings that have been raging in him for the past year and a half.

"I'm so sorry." He barely choked out before the waves rolled over him, enveloping his body and pushing everything to the surface. His body shook as he gasped for breath. He covered his face with his arms and curled his legs into himself.

"Dean?" More concerned now, he stood up, clearly confused and walked over to the small bed. He sat down next to the sobbing man and rested his hand lightly, cautiously on the back of his neck. Dean did not pull away, which he took as a sign of encouragement.

"There. There." He whispered softly, gently running his hand up and down the length of Dean's trembling back. It seemed to calm him slightly so Cas went even further, running his fingers through the dirty blonde hair, massaging his scalp. After a while, he was still but he remained in the same defensive position.

"Dean?" He asked, softly, patiently.

His heart skipped a beat, waiting for a response.

Finally, the other man turned his head slightly peeking out from the side of his bare arm.

"You were supposed to be dead."

"I'm not." Castiel lowered his eyes as a grim though flashed through his head. "Would you prefer that I was dead?"

Dean made an odd sort of growling choking noise. Only Cas would say something like that. Of course, he could imagine Cas saying that so, it could be all in his head. Maybe he was still down at the bottom of that hill with Croat Cas tearing him a new one. Maybe he was dead already. Maybe this was his afterlife.

"I think I'm dead." He whispered. "This isn't real. This can't be real."

Cas paused. He hadn't been expecting this reaction. All of the time he had spent imagining their reunion and never had it gone quite like this. He was not prepared for this at all.

"Dean," his low voice grave, "Perhaps once you eat something you'll feel better. I was just finishing heating up some baked beans. Would you like some?"

"I, yes, I'm so hungry."

"Okay, why don't you lay back down and I will get some for you."

Dean relaxed a bit back on to the warm bed. His head was spinning, both literally and metaphorically. He wished he had had some aspirin or something. He tried to push the thoughts of That Day out of his mind as well as the feelings of guilt which accompanied them but it seemed to be nearly impossible with Cas or something that looked just like Cas, he still hadn't decide which, standing in front of him trying to spoon feed him Bush's Special Recipe.

"I can do it myself, Cas." He said reaching for the bowl and spoon. "You don't have to do that."

"I, are you sure? I don't mind." The pained expression on his face was just piling even more guilt onto what Dean was already feeling. He took the dish and started eating, all the while staring into it as if a pile of beans were suddenly the most interesting thing he had ever seen. Although, to be fair, as the first real meal he'd had in weeks, it was pretty high on the interestingness scale and also just as delicious as it smelled which was very.

He finished it in a few short moments and looked greedily at the pot that was sitting on the table, then quickly looked back down at his now empty bowl. He could feel Cas' eyes burning into him.

"I don't think it's wise for you to have anymore right now. You appear as if you have eaten only very little for quite some time and if after a period such as that the human body requires some time to adjust to adequate intakes of nutrition."

"And where did you learn all that?" Asked Dean suspiciously. "Since when did you know so much about being human?"

"Dean," he paused. "My connection to the Host has only weakened in our time apart. I am almost completely human now."

"Oh."

"However, that did not imbue me with knowledge of human health and anatomy. That I have had since the creation of your species by my father."

"Oh." He looked down, refusing to meet Cas' eyes, "Cas?"

"Yes, Dean."

"I saw you, um, you were laying there…" he faltered, unable to continue but Castiel suddenly understood exactly what was going through Dean's mind and was instantly frustrated by the reminder that his power was but a fraction of what it had been.

"I was knocked unconscious." He sighed, obviously still embarrassed.

"Cas, I went back for you and you were gone." At this Cas sighed.

"When I awoke, everyone, you, Lucifer, everyone was gone. I tried using my cell phone but it was broken in the fight. I wandered around looking for you for a while but then the infected humans started coming and I found that I was having a hard time making any progress when I had to stop and kill someone every step. I thought that if you were still alive you'd probably be at Bobby's recovering, so I went there to join you but on the way I was overtaken…"

"What?"

"It's nothing. I was able to escape but by the time I had reached Bobby's it was obviously long abandoned and I had found out that you were still presumed alive by Lucifer. So, I have been searching for you ever since."

"Who took you? How did you escape? Do you know what happened to Bobby? Do yo—"

"Dean. You're still weak. Please, rest some more and then we will talk." Dean wanted to protest but the truth was he could barely keep his eyes open and with Cas' hand still gently resting on the small of his back he felt somewhat safe, even if it was only because of a dream or his imagination. He decided to give in, at least just this once, allowing his eyes to close and drifting back off to sleep.


End file.
